


Whatever the Hell We Want

by Brennanaphone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Canon Divergence Obviously, Dom/Dom, F/M, Hella Teasing, Jesus just fuck already, Light Bondage, Post-Season/Series 02, Season 3 Need Not Apply Here, Sub/Sub, Wait for it, Why does there have to be so much buildup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennanaphone/pseuds/Brennanaphone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy as Chancellor and Vice Chancellor, respectively. They are really bad at taking orders from other people. </p><p>But let's be real. Deep down, Bellamy needs people to tell him what to do, and Clarke secretly wants to give up some of her control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Not Now

**Author's Note:**

> Three moments that pave the way to some goddamn sexin'. But not in this chapter, so be patient and keep it in your pants for now.

MOMENT THE FIRST:

Bellamy drank coffee the way he did almost everything else these days: grimly, alone, and while trying not to fall asleep. During the rare moments he did sleep, he dreamed of hands on him, pulling him through dark, endless tunnels underground.

He was leaning against a guard post along the fence when Monty wandered up, toting a whole engine's worth of rotgut designed to energize the mind and destroy every other major organ in a single go.

"Council meeting today?" he inquired obsequiously in lieu of asking permission, choosing instead to pour a generous amount of 150-proof gasoline directly into Bellamy's tin cup.

"I'm not making the proposal to them again, Monty," Bellamy sighed, having seen this conversation headed his way several miles off without the use of binoculars. "Stripping Mount Weather is a great idea, but there's just not enough support. Besides, Clarke will block it. She hates the idea of going back there."

"But you're the Vice Chancellor."

"And  _she's_  the Chancellor. Do I need to teach you chess to make you understand this?"

The disdainful look Monty gave him indicated that, should he deign to participate in such a game, Bellamy's bishops would be limping sideways by the end of it. 

"I'd just like another look at that control center when I'm not murdering hundreds of men, women, and children," he clarified in his curiously straightforward way. "We could really use the tech." 

Clarke would have flinched from a bald statement like that. Bellamy did not. He examined the sunrise with the air of a man for whom sunrises are still a rare and precious thing, and took a sip of coffee.

"Clarke's got a lot of bad memories there. I won't push her."

"I find that kind of hard to--"

"Hey." Clarke's voice made them both turn guiltily, and Bellamy took a swig that he would live to regret in order to avoid her gaze. She came up on the other side of Monty and leaned on the post, facing outward into the trees and the light morning breeze. "What are you guys talking about?"

Monty stared at her with an extra dose of focused attention. He was probably a little stoned. "Chess maneuvers and dead children." Okay, very stoned.

Clarke had a way of looking at people as though she found them profoundly bizarre but was choosing to be too polite to say so until they were out of earshot. "Okay." She caught Bellamy's eye and smiled, and his normally twist-tight muscles unwound themselves a little. "You on guard training today, Bell?"

"For a bit. You need something?"

"Kane wanted to check the perimeter and make sure nobody's breached the outer defense system in the last twelve hours."

Bellamy gave her a frank look. "Well, he could, but it would be a waste of time, since I took care of that this morning before dawn."

She made a show of musing appreciatively. "The man never sleeps."

A bit of an awkward pause as they each mentally acknowledged the fact that neither of them could sleep much after the events of Mount Weather, that sometimes they both lay awake, listening to the sounds of the other person breathing unevenly, far across the room.

"Yeah, well, I'll see you at the Council meeting," he said, not sure why he was smiling except that she was, and it was a nice thing to see these days.

She reached around Monty to touch his shoulder, just briefly. "Make sure you talk to Tyree first, please, like we discussed?" An expectant raise of her eyebrows and she was gone. Bellamy watched her go. 

"Clarke's kind of amazing, isn't she?" Monty noted cheerfully, glancing from Clarke's retreating form to Bellamy's face and then back again.

The question was of the type that normally identified itself as Suspect in Bellamy's brain, but he wasn't paying too much attention at the moment. "Yeah."

"So, how's the sex?"

Bellamy didn't spit out his coffee so much as slop it down his front where, surprisingly, it failed to dissolve his shirt. " _What?_ "

Monty backpedaled so hard he could have done a high wire unicycle act in the circus. "Oh god, I'm sorry. Is that not what this is? You're just so nice to each other these days that--" He paused and gave Bellamy a penetrating stare. "Wait, is she dying? Are  _you_  dying?" His eyes widened. "Am  _I_  dying?"

"Monty," Bellamy growled, having had enough of this conversation around the word 'sex.' "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Monty's whole demeanor was that of a panicked man who would like his last statement stricken from the court's record. "I--we--I mean, Jasper and I were just thinking--you know, you and Clarke have never gotten along like this before. We--I mean I--just thought it was weird that you were actually obeying commands, so it was either...y'know, or one of you had six months to live, and it's not just me who thinks so. I mean, have you seen the way she  _looks_  at you when--" He scratched the back of his head furtively. "I mean...nothing. Never mind."

And with the greatest sense of dignity, Monty drew himself up, collected his pungent flask from the fence post, and booked it toward the Ark as fast as his lanky body could carry him.

Bellamy stood there, stunned.

"'Obeying?'" he repeated incredulously. "Who the hell's  _obeying_?"

 

MOMENT THE SECOND:

The Council meeting was about to start when Clarke walked in wearing his goddamn jacket. Not that this was an unprecedented occurrence. Now that he thought about it, she had been wearing his jacket irregularly for the better part of a month, whenever she felt like it.

He'd just never really thought about it before. 

Most of the Council members were already sitting around the table as she entered, swinging that bright, golden hair into a gray room of gray people. The door sealed with a hiss behind her and nearly everyone looked up and straightened their posture. When had this started, the reverential awe around Clarke Griffin for doing whatever she wanted and damn the consequences? When had he started doing what she told him to,  _just_  because she told him to? Jasper Jordan, newly elected as a Councilor and Clearly Very Into This, turned in his seat to hiss in Bellamy's direction.

"Hey, Vice Chancellor! I've been meaning to ask you about Clarke's new look." He leaned in conspiratorially, nearly falling out of his chair. "Is it some kind of political metaphor between you two?"

"Shut up." Bellamy had a certain eloquence in his own terse way. But combined with Monty's floundering speech, Jasper's comment was enough to rankle him, and before Clarke sat down he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her aside.

"Is there a reason you're wearing my clothes?"

She looked down at the offending article in surprise. "I was cold? Also, you left it at your post like you always do after training, so I thought I'd bring it to you."

"On your body." He tried to give her a measuring look without actually looking at too much of her. It proved difficult.

"Yeah..." She gave him a narrowed, weirded-out stare then. "You okay?"

And there was the root of the problem, because Bellamy Blake was  _not_  okay, but his limited emotional vocabulary didn't have words for what was wrong. It was suddenly clear to him that she shouldn't be wearing his jacket. The bottom of it brushed against her thighs when she walked. When she sat down in a chair, she buried her chin in the lining of the collar. When people asked her if that was her coat she replied easily, "Oh, no, it's Bell's." She had started calling him Bell. No one called him Bell except Octavia. When did that happen? And why the hell did he like it so much?

Well, fuck, maybe she  _should_  be wearing his jacket. But if she was, he thought resolutely, it should  _mean_ something. 

"Just try to look more like a chancellor," he growled, and watched her go from patiently amused to peeved in an instant.

"How's this?" she snapped, hiking the jacket back up onto her shoulders. "Sit down, shut up, and let's start this meeting. Is that chancellor material enough for you?" 

 

MOMENT THE THIRD

"Any new motions to bring to the table this week?" Clarke asked invitingly. For once, no one spoke up. Even Abby was subdued. 

He didn't know what made him say it. The giddy mixture of caffeinated alcohol and what some people might identify as Having An Emotion was making him a trifle trigger-happy. This wasn't even his fight, so why did he want to participate in it all of a sudden? 

"I say we go back to Mount Weather."

He should have at least raised his hand.

 

NOW:

Upon their return to Camp Jaha, the people had pretty much unanimously voted Clarke and Bellamy into office. The remaining 44 remembered how the two of them had led the camp and fought the Grounders. The Ark remembered how Clarke had treated with Lexa and how Bellamy had risked his life in Mount Weather. They were both obvious choices to rule the Council.

The problem was, the Council wasn't used to quite so many impassioned shouting matches.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Marcus Kane asked, wincing and holding a hand to his ear. 

Bellamy turned away and stalked over to the door, but Clarke resumed her seat with a degree of dignity and nodded.

"Of course, Councilor."

"Maybe we could take a preliminary poll at this juncture? Mutually decide the best course of action at a reasonable volume?"

Bellamy waded back in, inserting himself between Jasper and Abby and placing three fingers on the table. He leaned his weight into them. "There's nothing to  _decide!_  The Grounders have proved they're untrustworthy. They could attack at any minute and we'd still be basically undefended! They could pillage Mount Weather for themselves!"

Clarke goggled at him from her seat, her fingers clenched in the air as though imagining clutching him by the head. "The Grounders haven't even  _looked_  at us since we got back! And they're way too superstitious to ever go back to a forbidden bunker where so many of them died."

"Mount Weather kept them superstitious, but Mount Weather is  _gone_ ," he reminded her. "There's nothing to stop them from using guns now. Why aren't we thinking about that? Why aren't we training the guards how to defend against that?"

Clarke glared at him, but they both knew he was making sense, which was going to be a problem at some point, because, deep down, Bellamy didn't really want to go back to Mount Weather either. 

Finally she shook her head, and he could tell she was going to be stubborn. "Stop fear-mongering. We have no idea what they'll do next. They got what they wanted--all their people back, and Mount Weather's foot off their neck. Maybe they'll leave us alone."

He shook his head disgustedly. "You are so naive, Princess."

Abby turned her head to glare up at him from her seat on his right. "Don't you speak to my daughter that way," she said icily. "Cla--Chancellor Griffin is right." She addressed the table. "If we go back to Mount Weather just to strip it for weapons, the Grounders will automatically take that as a sign of aggression. We'll be starting a war."

"I dunno," said Jasper, with a shifty glance at Clarke. He hadn't spoken much to her since Mount Weather, but most of his anger had been safely redirected toward the Grounders. "If we wait for the Grounders to attack us, we'll never get through to Mount Weather again without serious casualties. If we go now, they might be too afraid to start something."

Jasper had been requesting a team to go back to Mount Weather for awhile now but mostly, Bellamy knew, because he wanted to visit Maya's grave. She was one of the few who had one. He pushed the thought away. Now was not the time to question motivations.

" _Thank_  you, Jasper." Bellamy pushed away from the table and took up his usual circuit around the room. Most Council members sat around the table, but Bellamy preferred to pace. "I say we vote on it."

"Now?" Abby demanded in that breathy, judgmental whisper of hers.

"I agree," said Councilor Tyree. "It's too early for consideration."

"We're not voting," Clarke said evenly, folding her hands on the table. "Councilor Blake is forgetting that he's not in charge here and that he has to follow the rules." She said that without a trace of ironic self-awareness or a glance at the three other people in the room who had attempted a coup of one kind or another. "He can formally introduce the measure next week and we'll vote on it then."

"Actually." He might no longer be chancellor, but Kane's opinion still had weight. The room stilled of movement. "I'd like to take the vote."

Clarke fixed Bellamy with a stare that promised a swift and purely verbal beating at a later point in time. He sent a crude gesture back at her behind her mother's head and could have sworn he almost got her to smile.

"All in favor of deploying troops to Mount Weather to collect tech supplies and weapons?" she sighed.

Bellamy, Jasper, and Kane raised their hands. Abby, Tyree, and Ehrens kept theirs down.

"Chancellor decides," Kane mused, turning to Clarke. 

Clarke stared down at her folded hands for a moment and then stood, addressing the table with her most patient, presidential air. "I'm not going to say that this isn't an easy decision, because it is. Frankly, I can't believe we're still discussing it when--"

"Could the Chancellor and I have a moment?" Bellamy interrupted. All heads turned toward him. He frowned at the room as a whole, then at Clarke in particular. "Alone?"

Eyes darted back and forth along the table, trying to read a situation that hadn't been written so much as graffitied on the wall in angry letters. Clarke looked away first with a weary shrug.

"Sure. Take a break, everyone. Maybe put some real thought into this...measure. We'll reconvene in two hours." 

Grudgingly, Council members filed out the door. Bellamy stayed where he was, gripping the back of Abby's chair. Once everyone was gone, Clarke pushed her chair back crisply and retrieved a rolled-up map from her bag. Without even glancing in his direction, she spread it along the table and began to annotate it with the pen she apparently now kept in his jacket pocket. 

Overhead, the white lights buzzed and flickered. He let a few minutes go by, but she refused to meet his gaze or even look up.

"Are you going to talk to me or do I have to stage a coup to get your attention?"

"You can't stage a coup, Bellamy, you're the Vice Chancellor," Clarke reminded him absently, still staring intently at the map in front of her. Shoving away from his chair, Bellamy stalked around to her side of the table and flattened his palm on the crude sketch, blocking it from her view.

"Doesn't feel like it."

She raised her eyes to his with deliberate slowness, and he tried to pinpoint exactly what feeling she was evoking in him right now. Annoyance, ever the eager volunteer, ran to the head of the class, leaving both Longing and Fear to to hang back and scuff their feet somewhere deeper inside of him.

"If you want to be in charge of something, you can train the troops," she said mildly. "That thing you mentioned about Grounders using guns was a good point."

She'd obviously meant it as a compromise, but he knew that they both heard it as a dismissal. She had been doing this ever since they got back from Mount Weather--keeping him at arm's length. She was friendly, argumentative, passionate, combative--everything she used to be--but she was also distant and newly unyielding. The flashes of vulnerability, of doubt, that he used to see in her were gone.

"Is that an order? Chancellor?" He hadn't moved his hand from the map, and his arm had to cross her body to do it. She didn't move away. Instead, she was giving him her blandest blue-eyed stare, the kind that quietly and firmly said to people,  _What, are you still here?_

"It's a suggestion," she said smoothly. "I can take care of this by myself. We need action right now, not bureaucratic bickering. You don't even like this kind of thing." 

"I don't like voting on stupid shit while your mom practices killing me with her mind. But I care about our people, Clarke. I'm trying to protect them. And going to Mount Weather is the right thing to do."

She could obviously hear the decision buried in that statement, because she looked up sharply, her gaze indicating a thorough excavation. "If the Council decides not to go, you're not going--not by yourself, not with Octavia, not at all."

"Right, because  _you've_  always listened to the Council's decisions," he scoffed. "And how many times do I have to remind you that I don't take orders from you?"

She slapped her hand down next to his, tearing the map a little. She didn't seem to notice. "I am getting really sick of hearing that, Bellamy. We're a functioning government!"  _Sort of,_  he interjected mentally, although he wasn't dumb or angry enough to say it out loud. "Sometimes you have to take orders. That's how this works."

"Wrong." He pivoted on his palm, swinging his other arm around her side and crowding her back against the table. His jacket slid off one of her shoulders, revealing a patch of smooth, white skin.  _Damn damn damn._  "We used to have this thing where we listened to each other. And if something didn't make sense, we did whatever the hell we thought was best."

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Is that right?" she demanded, her eyebrows coming together in a way that was somehow both angry and plaintive. She straightened up, forcing him to take a step backward or let her bump into him. "Because right now I'm remembering how I tried to leave Camp Jaha after we got back from Mount Weather. And I'm remembering how you chased me down that trail and hauled me back here. And you said--"

"'If you're putting me in charge of our people, then I'm ordering you to come back and help me,'" he recited with a grudging nod. "I remember." 

"I listened to you then," she reminded him, and everything about her seemed to soften. It drew him back in, just a little. "I followed your orders."

"Because I was right and you knew it."

She snorted derisively, but it wasn't terribly convincing. Her face was inches from his. He should take a step back. He didn't. Her hip was pressing against his thigh. 

"Maybe," he said, wetting his lips, "if we're going to give each other orders, it should actually be fair."

Her brow wrinkled with distaste. "What, like take turns?" The concept sounded foreign on her lips. Bellamy pitied Wells Jaha's childhood. 

He smiled. "Something like that. Make it even, anyway."

She shook her hair back and gazed up at him defiantly. "What happened to 'Whatever the hell we want?'" 

He pushed forward slightly, pressing her back against the table. He lowered his voice and let his gaze drift over her face. "How about, 'Whatever the hell we  _both_  want'?"


	2. Wait Your Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is just going to be pure, ridiculous smut.
> 
> How ridiculous? I can sum up the whole thing for you in one line: "Bellamy's penetrating gaze wasn't penetrating enough."
> 
> You've been warned.
> 
>  
> 
> *Also, special thanks to my friend, liciapocalypse, who told me that Clarke and Bellamy could never really have a traditional sub/dom relationship because they're both too obsessed with being in charge. This fic is the result of that conversation, so blame her.*

Clarke Griffin had no idea what the hell she wanted. 

Bellamy's thigh was pressing against hers and the table was digging into her hips and somehow it was all less unpleasant than she would have imagined. His eyes were tracking hers carefully, waiting for something.

"You don't always have to be in control, Clarke," he murmured, so gently that she couldn't be quite sure how he meant it. But of course she did. Being in control meant fewer people could screw things up. She had given up so much of her control, of her agency, to Lexa. She shouldn't have.

"Yes, I do," she replied earnestly. He stared at her archly until she looked away. "But you're not...totally wrong about our situation. We need to find a way to compromise."

"Okay then."

Clarke wasn't stupid. She knew there was something between them, something that had been building for awhile. She had the sneaking sensation it was connected to the urge that made her stare at him at council meetings and wonder what exactly his mouth tasted like. But it was also a dark, primal thing that frightened her a little, that demanded  _capitulation_ , and she wasn't sure she knew how to let go anymore. 

Bellamy was still looking at her, half an ironic smile still firmly in place. He ducked his head to catch her eye. "So, are we going to work together, or what?" 

She realized she was staring at his lips and made the sudden, irrevocable choice to wimp out. Her cheeks going warm, she ducked under his arm and moved several steps away from him along the table. "Yes, right. Let's do that."

Feeling flustered and conflicted, Clarke grasped this new purpose with all of her attention. She swept the map over to its blank back side and drew a two-column table on it. One column she labelled  _Bellamy_ , the other  _Clarke_.

"Okay," she said crisply. "We'll write down some rules for command. I get to make one, then you get to make one. On your turn you can either introduce a new rule or give up your turn to veto the other person's rule. When we're done, we'll decide on Mount Weather, together, once and for all." 

Bellamy rolled his eyes at her and collapsed into one of the chairs, slouching his body into the armrest and bringing one boot up against the table.

"You first," he sighed with a resigned gesture toward the list. She couldn't help but notice, though, that his eyes were on her and not the paper. She could feel them as she bent to her task.

"No--introducing--surprise--measures," she dictated to herself. She straightened up and looked to him expectantly. "Now you."

"Even when you're getting orders, you're giving them," he noted dryly, leaning back in his chair. He locked his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling. "Okay. I'm in charge of guard training."

That one was practically a give-in, and she wrote it down without complaint. "Great, okay, now me. If you have a problem with one of my decisions, you keep it in the Council room or in private--not out in front of everyone."

"Veto." 

She fought down an outraged protest-- _that was a completely reasonable rule!_  and decided instead to wait him out. She folded her arms and leaned her hip against the table. Dropping his hands from behind his head, he worked his mouth, his eyes traveling over the waves of her hair. It made her strangely warm and self-conscious.

"I'll tell you if I have a problem before I get our people involved, but they deserve to hear both sides of things," he said firmly. His gaze wandered down to examine her mouth. "Besides, the kids like to hear us give speeches."

She wrote it down slowly, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that she was entering into a lot more than a political contract. The way he said "our people" and "kids" sounded more like he was talking about a family than a community. It certainly broadened the subjects for discussion.

"Fine. My turn." She glanced up briefly. "You have to stay with me."

"What?" A gentle thud as his foot came down off the table.

"No taking off in the middle of the night." She fixed him with her most serious stare. "You can't do that thing where you just head out when you don't like what we're doing. You have to stick with me. No matter what."

"Done." His affirmation came gratifyingly fast, the velvet rasp of his voice leaving her suddenly too warm. She couldn't help the smile she gave him, the one she rarely felt anymore. 

She was starting to feel more generous. This was almost easy. "Go ahead," she prompted.

It almost looked like he wasn't listening. He folded his arms over his chest and settled back in his chair. "I don't know," he shrugged. His eyes were fixed on her mouth. "You pick."

"That's not a rule," she chided, trying to ignore the blush creeping up her neck. He gave her that slow, close-mouthed smile--the kind that creased his eyes and made him look dangerously boyish--and nodded, conceding the point with a casual shrug.

"You're right. I'm out."

"Well, think of something. This list is going to be really helpful in the long run."

She could tell he was enjoying this small power play. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "No, really. I pass. Your turn."

She kept the pen uncapped and her forearms flat on the table, refusing to straighten up until he gave her something. "Well then, my rule is that you have to give me a new rule."

"Veto," he grinned, clearly pleased with her annoyance.

"Just tell me to do something already!"

"Fine!" He looked her up and down appraisingly. "Take off my jacket."

"What?" 

"We're taking turns, aren't we?" He nodded with his chin. "Take it off. I want it back."

She glanced down at the jacket, hanging open down her sides, then back up at Bellamy. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not a real rule! That's just something you made up to be petty and mean."

He chuckled. "Clarke,  _all_  of this is stuff we just make up. We're in charge. That's the point."

"But we still have to follow...the...rules..." She realized she was in trouble with that sentence and trailed off in muddled exasperation. He stared at her knowingly.

"Fine," she snapped. "Take it, then." She shrugged it off and flung it at him. He caught it easily with one hand. "Happy now? Can we get back to the  _actual_  rules?" She was wearing only a thin tank top and it was cool in the vaulted room, but damned if she was going to let him see her shiver. She turned back to the map.

"Actually," he said, the word an arrow quivering in the wall. "Technically, that last order was yours. You ordered me to give you an order and I did, so..." He spread his hands. "It's my turn."

She bit back a curse and shoved the cap back on her pen, imagining that she was shoving it elsewhere and with more ferocity. "Fine." She straightened up. "Now what?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Those look like my boots, too. Take 'em off." 

"Bellamy, if you can't--"

He held up a hand. "It's your turn after this. Do you really want to argue with me over boots?"

" _Fine_."

She kicked off her perfectly-fitted, women's-size boots without even looking at them, glaring at Bellamy expectantly the whole time. He waited for the shoes to settle.

"Okay. Now it's your turn," he murmured graciously. 

"I order you to take this seriously, then."

"Who says I'm not?" He wore that teasing, curling smile, but there was black anarchy dancing in his eyes, and something about it made goosebumps prickle up her bare arms. "You can try that one again, if you want."

A warm sensation was starting to worm through the pit of her stomach. She was barefoot and sleeveless and deeply unsettled, but she had no desire to get back to the list. Something in her wanted to see how far this could possibly go.

"I want you to do..."  _Whatever it is we're both pretending we don't want. Unimaginable things with your tongue._ _Me._

She hesitated. He was no longer smiling. In fact, the intensity of his gaze was boring into her, turning her body into molten glass. She watched him swallow tightly. The Ground had made her feel helpless over and over again. But the way Bellamy was looking at her somehow made her feel powerful.

 _"..._ whatever you want to do most."

His amused expression said,  _Coward_. He gave a disappointed shake of his head and stood up slowly, unfolding himself like a cat after a nap. Pushing back his chair, he headed for the door without a backwards glance. 

Dumbly, she watched him go, feeling like an idiot. He reached the door panel and touched a button. A light flashed from green to red and the door locked with a tight  _pssssh_ , the sound of it crowding her heart up into her throat. He turned back to face her.

"Take off your shirt, Clarke." 

Clarke's breathing quickened without her consent and a thrumming desire began to pulse between her legs. She fought for control.  _If this is going to happen, at least there are rules,_  she thought determinedly.  _I won't let it be Finn. I won't let it be Lexa._ Maybe some things could just be sex. It seemed like that was always Bellamy's philosophy anyway.

Hardly believing her own actions, she gathered the hem of her tank top in both hands and pulled it cross-armed over her head, shaking her hair loose over her bare shoulders as it dropped from her hands. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath. 

Bellamy let all of his breath out in a steady stream through his nose, his dark eyes widening. Maybe he hadn't expected her to do it. Maybe he felt, as she was starting to, that they were teetering on the edge of something dangerous here.

The cool air tingled against her skin, and her exposed nipples tightened into hard little buds in response. Or maybe that was because of how he was looking at her. She was suddenly aware of how much empty space was brushing up against her naked breasts. She had never been so brazenly on display. 

"Clarke," he murmured roughly, his eyes very carefully staying on hers. "If you don't want..."  

The kindness--the  _softness--_ in his tone made her stomach twist into knots. "It's not your turn," she reminded him evenly.  _Stick to the rules._

That insouciant smile returned in increments and the sardonic edge resurfaced in his voice. "Okay then, Princess. Tell me what to do."

That was still sort of a command, but she ignored it. "Come here," she ordered. He responded with gratifying promptness, striding across the room in a way that made her think he might not stop when he reached her. Her mind flashed with the thought of him pushing her back against the wall, his wicked mouth against her jaw, his palms cupping her breasts--

But he didn't. Instead he stopped a few feet away, his rebellious mouth quirked in a way that told her if he was going to be frustrated, she was too.

"Pants," he rasped. It wasn't exactly an order, but Clarke obeyed it anyway, rolling the soft denim down her legs and kicking it free. She had never felt like this before, not quite sure who was in control. Her underwear was still on, and Bellamy glared at it so hard she thought he might be trying to set it on fire.

"Sorry, it's my turn." 

"I know." The deep growl of his voice tingled along her bare skin, raising goosebumps across her collarbone. She couldn't stand going untouched another minute. She moved toward him, just a step, and he swallowed hard.

"Put your mouth on me, Bellamy."  

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his eyes dropped to her hips. "Anywhere?" She nodded. "Just my mouth?"  _Of course_. His serious brown eyes nailed her to the floor. "Then you have to close your eyes and stand completely still."

Clarke hesitated for a moment. She'd become hyper-vigilant in her time on the Ground: sleeping only fitfully, jumping at shadows, and always facing an exit. She hadn't realized how tiring it all was. She let her eyes drift closed.

She heard him shift in nearer to her and all of her nerves went on full alert. She had to resist the urge to cross her arms protectively over her bare chest. The warm, masculine scent of him filled her senses. She could feel how close he was to her body, and it ached for him.

When he blew a stream of cool air onto the curve of her breast, she jumped and shivered, her nipples stiffening automatically. She had to clasp her hands against her thighs to keep herself from plunging her fingers into his curly hair and pulling him to her.

His boots scraped against the floor and the stream of tingling air traveled slowly down her naked belly, leaving goosebumps everywhere it landed. When it reached her hips, it stopped abruptly. Still not touching her so deliberately that it seemed like a caress, Bellamy breathed hotly, just a short  _hah_ , right through her panties.

Her thighs went up in flames. She whimpered once, arching her hips forward desperately. The sensation of him nearly pressed up against her disappeared, and she was suddenly too cold and simultaneously much, much too warm. Her eyes tracked the darkness fruitlessly behind her closed eyelids. Where the hell had he gone?

"I gave you orders," she reminded him nervously, obediently keeping her eyes shut. "You still have to--"

Very softly, Bellamy pressed his lips against hers, startling her into silence. 

She went completely still as he kissed her tentatively, his mouth an open-ended question. Her hands came up from her sides and then dropped back down. This wasn't part of a game, or their ridiculous power struggle, or Whatever the Hell We Want, or even just sex. This was real. It shook her.

Her lips parted, just enough to let him inside, and she felt him smile against her mouth. For a moment they kissed softly, two people linked only at the mouth, as though the crackling electricity everywhere else along their bodies would fry them both if they touched. 

But then--

But then he tried to draw away just as gently, and she couldn't let him do that, so she caught his bottom lip in her teeth--

And then they surged together with a kind of helpless passion that had been building for too long. Her fingers found themselves buried in his hair, his arms were wrapped around her naked back, she'd pressed her breasts against the thin screen of his t-shirt, she could feel the hard push of his erection between her thighs, and it was all too much, too fast, too frighteningly easy to lose herself in him--

They broke away from each other, panting, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Clarke's muscles had dissolved. Bellamy stumbled backwards several steps, knocking a chair on its side as his hand searched for support.

"Clarke--" he gasped, and he didn't sound nearly as in control as he had a moment ago.

Clarke crossed her arms underneath her breasts, anchoring herself to herself. Her lips felt branded.  _This is why we have rules!_  she thought. "You were only supposed to use your mouth!"

" _You_  were supposed to stand still!"

There was no chance of that anymore, not with the hot taste of his lips still on her. Her body wasn't just crying out to be touched--it was howling and wailing and throwing red paint on the walls. Bellamy's penetrating gaze wasn't penetrating enough. She moved her fingers to the junction of her thighs, desperate to ease the coiling tension there. 

"No!" His voice was a thunderclap. 

She froze, her fingertips just barely grazing the thin cotton. A tightened cord of desire twanged its protest. Bellamy shifted his stance a little so that she could see just how painfully aroused he was. She fought for control of her voice.

"Fine," she allowed, withdrawing her hand. There was an insistent throbbing between her legs now that was getting harder to ignore. "But that was your turn." His eyes narrowed but his mouth closed around his next command. "Good. Now. Take off all your clothes."

He gave her a look of pure outrage. "What? But I had to--"

She nearly laughed. "No one said that the rules only applied to individual articles of clothing." Her finger ran idly along the waistband of her panties, pushing them down half an inch past her hipbone. Every muscle in Bellamy's throat constricted as he swallowed. "Now take off all your clothes, Councilor Blake."

Clarke hadn't been there when Murphy ordered Bellamy to hang himself, but she imagined that he submitted to it with the same expression that he wore now. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and tossed it away, muttering about "bullshit" as he shucked his pants and kicked off his boots. Naked, he crossed his arms and gave her that tight-lipped  _Happy now?_  look.

_Oh. Yes._

With his arms folded tightly his biceps flexed, and she could see the tension in all of the muscles along his shoulders. His hard brown stomach sloped smoothly downward into narrow hips. Blood was starting to pound in her ears. She let her gaze drop, and a flood of arousal warmed her body as she saw exactly how much he wanted her.

"Clarke."

Her eyes jumped back up to his. They were fixed on her intently--not even brown so much as a deep, all-consuming black. He didn't need to say the order out loud--locked into his depthless dark gaze, she hooked two fingers under the waistband of her panties and pulled them all the way down. 

Across from her, Bellamy's sharp intake of breath sounded painfully involuntary. Her bare feet tentative on the cool metal floor, she stepped out of her underwear and shivered, goosebumps sweeping over her skin. 

Bellamy's eyes were still steadily on hers, his dark curls falling carelessly across his forehead. He wet his lips, and his gaze slipped slowly downward, easing itself over every curve of her body--the heavy swell of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the slide of her smooth thighs.  There was the slightest breeze against her skin, and it made her ache so badly she nearly arched her hips. She was nothing but a sea of raw nerves, taunted by the caress of the air around her. 

"Touch yourself," she whispered. His eyes still locked on hers, he reached down and stroked the hard length of his erection in one hand. It was the most erotic thing Clarke had ever seen.

"Turn around," he ordered hoarsely. "And face the wall."

She realized she was shaking as she moved, her muscles trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and arousal. She turned toward the expanse of unbroken, shining steel. A warped reflection of her naked body slid in and out of shape as she approached. Behind her, Bellamy's footsteps were soft and measured as he slowly crossed the distance between them. They stopped before he reached her.  

"Lean forward." His voice was just behind her, softer now. "Put your hands against the wall." It wasn't his turn, but she did it anyway, pressing her palms flat against the cold metal. His twisted reflection in the wall before her was tantalizingly obscure--a dark mass of black curls, the curve of his broad shoulder, the unbroken streak of his naked, muscled thigh. Her heart pounding, she lowered her chin, letting her hair swing forward over her heaving breasts. 

His hand settled on the curve of her hip and she immediately arched her spine as his bare thighs made sudden contact with the backs of her legs. At the same time, the round, slick head of his cock pressed against the entrance of her sopping pussy, and she gave a sharp, gasping cry. 

"Fffffuuck," Bellamy ground out, his fingers clenching hard around her hipbone. Both of them were panting with the effort of staying still, and a little whimper escaped her throat. 

He held her firmly in place as he slid the tip of his erection up and down her wet slit, making her rock backwards against him. His free hand moved up the smooth length of her back, his fingers tangling in the long waves of her hair. The sensation was like hooks catching in her nerves. She pressed her forehead against the wall, rotating her hips desperately, trying to urge him forward, not sure if she wanted to order him to just do it or to keep teasing her. 

"Goddammit, Clarke," he muttered indistinctly. "Tell me what you want already."

"Fuck me," she managed, just to hear herself say it. Was she ordering him now or begging him? "Fuck me, Bellamy."

Bellamy made a sound like a drowning man. The head of his cock parted her lips and pushed into her slowly and insistently. A low moan hummed against her lips as he filled her inch by agonizing inch. When he began to withdraw with the same exquisite care, she felt herself beginning to unravel.

"Faster," she gasped. Whose turn was it? Who the hell cared? All that mattered now was that his hands were on her, that he was inside her, that her mind had gone blessedly, blissfully blank. He began to rock her forward onto the balls of her feet, his cock sliding in and out of her to the tangled rhythm of her breath. One hand was still caught in her hair, while the other moved from her hip up her stomach to cup her breast. "Yes--like--that," she cried, each word punctuated by a thrust as he increased his pace, driving deeper and deeper inside her.

His deft fingertips rolled her nipple into an aching point, and the jolt it sent through her made her fully aware of where she was--naked and being ridden hard in the middle of the Council room. It should have made her stop, but instead it made it all so much hotter.

"Clarke--"

 _Whatever it is--_  "Yes. Yes, yes, yes."

With a groan that sounded like all of his self-control draining away, he spun her around, lifting her hips with his rough hands and pressing her back into the wall. Her legs came up around his waist automatically, keeping him inside her. Her body was crying out for him to continue, but both of them froze as their eyes met. His face was scant inches from hers, his freckles vivid across his cheekbones. His smirking facade had vanished and he was breathing hard, his lips slightly parted. Even being naked and wrapped around him wasn't as intimate as this. 

A bead of sweat dripped from the tip of his dark curls and landed on her breast. His gaze darted across her face, questioning, uncertain, and she didn't stop to think about what any of it meant, she just leaned forward and pressed her open mouth to his.

She felt his breath catch in his throat. His cock stiffened and pulsed inside her, sending signal flares exploding through her core. For a moment he didn't move, he just kissed her, his hand behind her head, holding her to him, his lips rough, insistent, and terrifyingly tender. How could she possibly stay in control when all she wanted was more of him, all of him, his tongue in her mouth and his fist in her hair? She found herself responding with an enthusiasm that frightened her, that made all of her muscles clench around him. 

Bellamy made an audible little groan in his throat. Flattening his palm next to her head, he began to move inside her again, but helplessly now, as though unable to do anything else. Her fingers clenched in the bunched muscles along his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. 

His whole body was pressing her flat against the wall, each deep thrust arching her hips harder into his. With a tortured growl, he pulled his lips away and began to trace hot, wet kisses along her neck, his tongue dragging along the edge of her jaw as he drove in and out of her. It drew a short, mewling sound from her that she had never made before and couldn't stop. 

"Bellamy," she moaned, her insides hot and twisted as a metal coil over a flame. His ragged, desperate rhythm was pushing her to the brink, her knees locked around his naked waist. She looped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself to him. His fingers slipped between their joined bodies to stroke her just as his teeth closed gently around her earlobe. It drove a spike right through her. "Bellamy!"

"Tell me what to do," he panted harshly into her neck. His voice cracked and nearly broke. "Clarke, I want to make you come." 

She had no commands left--she was spinning through the vortex. "Kiss me," she begged. "Please."

His palm cupping the back of her neck, he brought his mouth crashing back to hers, and she finally let go.

 

Bellamy didn't wake up so much as he came to on the Council room floor, lying on top of a pile of their clothes. 

"Shit, was I asleep?" He raised himself up on one elbow, gazing around the room. He felt surprisingly good, refreshed even. Had he really been sleeping? In the middle of the day? Clarke was nestled against him, her back warm against his chest. To his utter delight, she was still naked. She raised her wrist in the air, where her father's watch was always strapped.

"About half an hour," she said clearly, like the hall monitor he'd always suspected her to be. "So we have maybe twenty minutes before the councilors come back in." Her tone turned idly speculative. "We should probably be wearing clothes by then."

He traced a finger up and down the curve of her hip, thinking of all the things he could do in twenty minutes. Very gently, he rolled her onto her back. She smiled up at him, her hair a tangled mess and her swollen mouth demanding to be kissed.

"I don't want to go back to Mount Weather either," he said softly. The smile faded, but she didn't look away. In all their recent fighting, Bellamy had forgotten that the best way to appeal to Clarke's vulnerability was to reveal his own. "I know how it feels to do something terrible, Clarke, and to not be able to take it back." She flinched, just a little, and he knew he'd hit the mark. Clarke was a studious planner, and the tumultuous events at Mount Weather had forced her into cold, brutal action. It tortured her, he knew, to think about what she might have done differently.

He brought his hand up to her forehead and brushed away an errant strand of hair. "But that doesn't matter anymore. We did what we did to protect our people and to save our families. We have to keep doing that now, however we can."

"I know," she said, her blue eyes meeting his unwaveringly. The placid certainty in her voice derailed his train of thought and tore up the tracks beneath it. "I don't need the speech. I'm with you, Bellamy." A small, wry smile curled her lips. "You convinced me."

Her eyebrows quirked up in patient amusement as she watched him struggle with that one. He stared down at her, bemused, because  _You convinced me_  was the absolute last thing he expected to hear from Clarke Griffin following one of his speeches, just behind  _We should definitely follow Bellamy's lead_  and  _Everyone just listen to my mother_. "How?" he finally growled with his usual gravel coating of mistrust.

She considered him from her supine position beneath him. "At Mount Weather you told me there are some lines you can't uncross." She shrugged with her mouth, her eyes cutting away from him and then back. "You were right. I've been afraid that once we got out there again, I'd be right back up against those lines." 

It was hard to sugar-coat things when the human race hadn't had sucrose in 97 years. "That might still happen."

She reached up to thread her fingers in the curls along the nape of his neck. "But at least we cross them together." 

 ***********************

When the Council reconvened, Jasper couldn't quite believe the plan had worked. Sure, Clarke had what looked like a hickey along the side of her neck, but that wasn't  _proof_. After all, Jasper had given himself several experimental hickeys out of a purely scientific curiosity before, although admittedly self-administration on the neck seemed difficult. Perhaps more damningly, Clarke was still wearing Bellamy's jacket, and Bellamy himself adjusted the skewed collar without comment on the way to his side of the table.

Jasper had been the one to idly observe, "Either they're fighting or fucking" once when Bellamy and Clarke had disappeared into a tent while bickering about fence posts. But Monty was the one who had heard those options as mutual exclusives, who had suggested that if the two chancellors actually started banging, they might stop arguing, and Jasper and Monty would finally get what they wanted.

As all of the councilors settled back into their seats, it became clear that Monty was a genius.

"We're going back to Mount Weather," Clarke announced to the table, and all of Jasper's suspicions were confirmed in one glorious moment of triumph. 

"Yes!" he crowed, high-fiving himself ecstatically, although it probably looked stupid without Monty mirroring him.

"Just a small team to start," Bellamy stepped in. "We only need a few people to go identify what they have for tech, med, engineering, mechanics, and whatever other science crap we need around here. Soldiers who go will be there for scouting and defense only. We're not trying to start a war." He glanced at Clarke and they exchanged a nod.

Having known he was going to be on the team since the words "science" and "crap" were put together, Jasper thrust his hand into the air and waved it around. "Are we leaving now?"

"We leave at dawn," Clarke answered crisply. "Everyone needs a good night's sleep first." The knowing look she and Bellamy exchanged screamed  _Not a fucking chance,_ but before either of them could remember that Clarke's mother was in the room and not blind, Bellamy's smile faded away.

"Wait, what do you mean 'we'?" he demanded across the table. Councilor Tyree sighed and put his head down over his folded arms. "Clarke, we can't both go."

"Why not?" She looked perfectly serene. "You were right--this is important."

"So is protecting the camp!"

"We can leave my mom in charge."

"Have you noticed that every time a chancellor leaves her in charge, they stop being chancellor when they get back?"

" _Excuse_  me?" Abby demanded.

_Fighting or fucking--or both. Maybe some things don't really change._

"Bellamy, you can lead the troops all you want." Clarke lifted a sheet of paper from the table. It had two columns drawn on it. She pointed to one bullet point and raised her eyebrows. "But you have to stay with me."

To Jasper's surprise, Bellamy capitulated, flopping down into his actual assigned chair and glaring at her mutinously. "It'll be chaos here, you realize," he growled.

And Clarke, whom Jasper had rarely seen smile and who never practiced anything less than perfect self-control, grinned and shot back, "Well, what's wrong with a little chaos?"


	3. You First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add to this because why the fuck not, and also because it turns out I can think of a lot more depraved things that Clarke and Bellamy could be doing with their bodies. So many things. All the things.
> 
> With their bodies.

“You’re not going.”

“I am.”

“Like hell.”

In the settling dusk, Clarke strode through Camp Jaha, dodging Bellamy's attempts to grab her by the elbow. He was predictable that way. The wind had picked up in the last few hours and now it raked her hair across her face in coarse strands. The earth glinted like glass and iron, hard and scoured by the elements. The sun had probably gone down, but with the clouds so low and thick it was hard to tell. A snowstorm was brewing, Clarke realized as Bellamy dogged her heels.

“Don’t you have guard duty or something?”

She knew very well that he did, had even woven across the frost-pitted grounds to the fence in the hopes of shaking him. No such luck.

“I'm worried more about putting together an expedition for tomorrow,” he grunted. “You should be focusing on fortifying the camp. That's a blizzard on its way.”

“So maybe neither of us should go.”

Bellamy's retort died unspoken as they turned the corner and stopped short. They had reached the 44's quarter of camp, and milling in front of it were the 44.

This was the section for the survivors, a loose group that Octavia had dubbed "Mt. Weathered." It was a fenced-off area of shabby tents and haphazard wooden structures. The wary teens still refused to bunk in the remains of the Ark, preferring the safety of the relatively open air and the treeline.

Jasper was standing on one of the mess tables that Monty had set up for selling coffee, keeping the peace through what looked like sheer panic. 

"It's just an exploratory mission to get tech!" he called desperately. "Nothing's been decided!"

"We don't need anything from them!" Miller snapped, angrier than Clarke had seen him before.

"I'm not going back there!" Harper was chanting, her fingers threaded behind her head as she stared at the ground. "I'm not I'm not I'm not."

"Hey." Bellamy reached into the crowd and fished Monty out by the collar of his coat. "What the fuck is going on."

Monty looked uneasy. "Jasper was a little too vocal about us going back to Mt. Weather." He eyed his best friend warily across the mob. "Most people don't really have a reason to commemorate the place, y'know?"

Clarke stared. "What is their problem?"

"They think you're going to move us back to Mt. Weather. For good." Monty spoke quietly, but eyes still slanted at Clarke from the edges of the crowd, cutting her up quickly and efficiently.

"What about the Grounders?" someone called. "Aren't they going to attack as soon as we go back through their land?"

"It's _our_ land!" an angry voice replied. "We're not leaving our home to hide underground!"

"No one is attacking anyone!" Clarke shouted over the crowd, fed up with the escalating nonsense. All heads swiveled in her direction. At her shoulder, Bellamy gave an exasperated sigh. "The Grounders have left us alone since Mt. Weather and we'll assume that they'll continue to do so. In the meantime, we need to find out what Mt. Weather has to offer us so we don't freeze to death this winter."

"I knew it!" a lanky boy at the edge of the mess called, standing up from the bench and slamming his mug of coffee on the table. "This is bullshit!"

"Easy, Osborne," Bellamy rumbled, his voice low and rough as a kick in the dirt. "No one has decided anything yet."

"This bitch already has!" And before Clarke could even open her mouth to respond, he'd taken two long strides across the beaten ground and slung his metal cup at her.

The coffee that splashed across her legs was cold at least--thank god--but the heavy mug glanced off her knee and she went down with a little gasp of pain. Osborne stood there for an instant, his mouth open as if in surprise at what he'd accomplished, before Bellamy stepped up and punched him in the mouth.

Osborne dropped like a stone, and the crowd nearby took a prudent step back, watchful and silent. Bellamy stood over the stunned figure, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

"Anyone else got something to say?"

Nope.

With Monty's help, Clarke struggled back up to her feet, and Bellamy turned to her, his face clouded with concern. Low murmurs bubbled up behind them as she strode away, trying not to limp as Bellamy caught her by the arm.

"Well, that went well," he sighed, flicking his head from side to side like a dog trying to lose a troublesome fly. She shrugged his hand away.

"Yeah, it's a good thing we remembered not to overreact."

"Those idiots were ready to attack the _Chancellor_ _,_ Clarke. You have to stay here if you want to keep the peace."

"I want to do what's best for our people."

They had reached the Chancellor’s quarters—a relatively roomy single pod in the center of the Ark's scattered detritus. She ran her key over the pad and the door swished open. Bellamy followed her in, a rumble in his throat.

“Clarke, you know I don't care if you go to Mt. Weather,” he said in his most reasonable growl, slapping the controls that sealed them in and paring away the sharp whistle of the wind. Clarke shivered pleasantly in the enveloping warmth and unloaded the papers and tools from Bellamy's jacket onto the rickety metal table near her tiny kitchenette. Bellamy was right behind her, a restless heat at her back. “But nothing is stable here. People are getting cold and hungry, and the 44 are pissed about everything these days. If we both go gallivanting off—"

“They'll realize how committed we are to getting them better resources,” Clarke interrupted smoothly, leaning down to assess the damage to her leg. She was going to have a bruise, no doubt about it, but mostly her pants were wet and sticky and starting to stiffen from the cold. With a sigh, she kicked off her boots and bent over to roll the denim down her legs.

“It’ll look like we’re abandoning them.” Bellamy's tone was the same, but there was a new tightness in his voice that made her pause, that made her realize, on a turn, what she had just done. She straightened up slowly and stepped out of the pants, feeling him hover uncertainly behind her, feeling his gaze jump like a spark to her bare legs. When she stood up, the solid wall of him was right there against her back and she leaned into him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder and nestling into it automatically. He sucked in a hasty breath and reached past her to grip the edge of the table in both hands, trapping her in place, but she had no plans to go anywhere. He was warm and solid and furious, and it made her pulse jump to feel him move toward her, into her, rather than away.

“Let it go, Bellamy.” Clarke had always had an eloquence and conviction that made her formidable in debate, but she had the sudden realization that she didn’t need it with Bellamy anymore (not that it had ever worked on him). She had a different kind of power now, one she'd never had over anyone. Suddenly her knee didn't hurt much at all.

“No.” But his hands found their way to her hips, centering her between his legs. She closed her eyes as his lips dipped to brush the shivering skin along her neck. 

"If I stay, who's going to be here to punch teenagers in the face for me?" she teased.

For the space of three deep breaths she felt him falter. Then, darkly, “You’re not going, Clarke.” 

“How do you plan to stop me, Councilor?” She raised her hand behind her head, threaded her fingers through his thick hair, and twisted until he gave a little groan. The rigid outline of his erection sprang into her hip and Clarke felt an incredible surge of satisfaction.

His lips were at her ear now, his hands squeezing her hips and pulling her against him until her ass was cradled snugly against his crotch.

“How about a bet?” he murmured. She could feel his voice rather than hear it, vibrating in the delicate hollow behind her jaw.

She turned to look up at him, her eyebrows racing for her hairline. “Sorry, what?”

“A bet.”

Pulling away and taking a step back, she folded her arms and pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes at him. “What kind of bet?”

He hadn’t let go of her hips. Thumbing the hem of her shirt up, he traced his fingertips along the waistband of her panties, and everywhere he brushed against her became a trembling in her skin.

He grinned. “If I can make you beg for it—”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

The grin widened, his dark eyes glittering with the sort of malicious good humor that had so plagued her when they first reached the Ground.

“If I can make you beg for it, you stay here tomorrow.”

Clarke folded her arms and leaned her hip back against the table. “I am not going to _beg_ for it.” She was aiming for scathing incredulity, but as soon as the words left her lips, her mind skipped backward a few hours like a stone flicking over water’s broken skin—“ _Fuck me, Bellamy,_ ”—and she could see in his face that he was remembering the same thing.

“Really?” he smirked. Hooking his fingers in her jacket pockets, he tugged her forward a step and she went, willing and unwilling in equal parts. “Then this should be easy for you.”

She let him lean in, let him get close enough that she could smell the gun oil on his skin and the sweat in his hair, let his lips almost open against hers before she asked, “And if I make _you_ beg?”

Surprise and admiration set in on his face one after the other and were gone just as quickly. He considered her for a moment. “Then you can lead us wherever the hell you want and I won’t question a thing you tell me.”

Bellamy might drive her crazy, but he was an idiot if he thought she would put sex ahead of her duties. Then again, Bellamy had always thought that orgies went along with a position of power, so maybe self-control had never occurred to him at all. This was going to be easy.

“Deal.”

She held out her hand to shake, because of course she did, but Bellamy bypassed it entirely, grabbing her by the lapels of his own jacket and hauling her up hard. She thought he would pull her to him, kiss her roughly, and she was braced for that, but instead he dropped her down unceremoniously on the metal table. The open sides of the jacket still wadded in his fists, he nudged her legs open and stepped between them. She felt a tremor of excitement shiver through her as he lowered his head and let his mouth graze over hers, almost making contact, close enough for his breath to mingle with hers. She kept her eyes open and trained skeptically on him, as though this were no more interesting to her than one of Jaha’s speeches.

Game on.

“Do you know when I first wanted to fuck you, Clarke?” he murmured. The blatant crassness of the question sent heat rushing into her cheeks, but she swallowed her reaction, tried to make her voice as rippleless as possible.

“I’m hoping it was before the last Council meeting.”

His laugh was a warm throb deep in her belly, and she was grateful when he broke away from her gaze. That is, until he began to kiss his way up her jaw, his lips hot against her skin. “It was when you made me go on that stupid mission to Mt. Weather the first time.”

Clarke was genuinely nonplussed—what first time? But then his lips locked around her earlobe and her mind went static.

“You asked me to bring my gun?” he whispered through his teeth. “And told me that everyone watching us would see that only one of us was scared?” His tongue traced the whorl of her ear, spiraling inward in a wet arc that made her jump with sensation. “I would have thrown down with you right there in the middle of camp.”

She extracted herself with a tremendous effort, drawing away to look him in the eye. “When we went after _Jasper?_ ” she demanded incredulously. “Like the second day we met?”

His eyes swept her face with a barely suppressed smile. “Yeah.”

“You wanted to _kill me_ then!”

His grip still on the collar, he pulled her forward to capture her mouth. “That too.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped in outrage and Bellamy took the opportunity to seize her bottom lip, biting down gently and dragging it out between his teeth so that arousal and impatience and fury shot like lightning through her core. She surged into the kiss, pushing up from the table, but he settled her back down, his heavy hands sliding down her sides to rest on the tops of her naked thighs.

“Easy, Princess.” His voice was a satisfied purr in his throat as he released her mouth and let his black gaze roam her face. “I don’t really want to win right away.”

Damn him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bellamy,” she said, ready to win this stupid bet for entirely new reasons. It sharpened her tone beautifully. “All you’re doing is wasting my time when I could be preparing for my expedition tomorrow.”

She couldn't quite admit that she liked the way his eyes sparked at that, the wicked amusement curling his full mouth. “Just tell me you want it now and we can make this fast.”

But she just gazed serenely back with a bland expression, daring him to continue. He gripped her legs hard, his thumbs running up and down the smooth length of her thighs. Although her insides were bucking and rioting, she held her outward calm, and Bellamy’s eyes narrowed in response. His palms slid upward, his thumbs gaining ground slowly, only an inch from brushing against that sweet twist at her center. Her breath quickened without her consent and her hips rose, just barely, just enough.

With a satisfied sigh, his lips returned to hers and this time the kiss was equally greedy, her tongue in his mouth, her fingers gripping the back of his neck and holding him in place. His thumb had reached the junction of her thighs, but he continued to tease her, his touch just a pale sweep through the thin fabric of her underwear. Her back arched and she canted her hips mindlessly, needing the pressure, needing the release.

His fingers disappeared and he took a firmer step between her legs, flattening his palm against the base of her spine and pulling her forward to the edge of the table. Her legs came up automatically around his waist, and she exhaled hard as the unyielding thrust of his cock pressed firmly against the ache at her core. Bellamy rested his forehead against hers and rocked back and forth, pushing insistently against the unforgiving denim layer between them.

Now that she was allowed a rhythm, Clarke found her muscles unknotting, her nerves growing slippery. Bellamy's panting mouth descended to her collarbone and she fell backward onto her elbows, the jacket slipping off her shoulders and pooling beneath her.

"What about me?" he asked, dragging the front of her shirt down over the heavy curve of her breast with his teeth. The instant her nipple was free, he closed his mouth over it and began to suck. Clarke struggled up onto her palms, arching her body into the feeling as his tongue flicked lightly over the tip. A deep shudder coursed through her.

"What about you?" she demanded numbly, fighting for control.

His cock was still straining against her, his hand was on her other breast, kneading and stroking, but he lifted his head nonetheless to raise an eyebrow at her.

"When did you first want to...?"

"Fuck you?" she supplied, using his word, feeling the hard edges of it with the back of her tongue. She gave him a bored look. "Who says I do?"

The eyebrow merely rose higher. Without looking away, he reached between her legs and shifted her panties to the side. Slowly, languorously, he stroked her with his thumb, a fierce and possessive gleam in his eyes as he watched her struggle to hold back. Tracking her expression, practically predatory, he slid two fingers back and forth between her folds, pulling a breath in through his teeth when he realized how wet she was. When his middle finger slipped inside her, she finally snapped, bucking against his palm and choking on a gasp.

"Fuck, Clarke," he whispered tightly. His head tipped forward and he groaned into her shoulder. "You _liar._ "

There was no denying it, not with the way he moved in and out of her, so slick and effortless, a second finger joining the first until she was urging him on with her hips, a searing tightness winding up inside of her. She had moved all the way to the edge of the table, her knees falling open. 

Her nimble fingers found their way to his waist and a moment later his pants had hit the ground, the clatter of his gun belt loud on the metal floor. She didn't have to work hard to untangle him from his shorts--his cock sprang into her hand, thick and straining against her touch.

There was an urgency now as he curled his fingers inside her, an irresistible wave that couldn't be dammed. When their lips met in an insistent kiss, it broke. Bellamy kicked free of his shorts and pants, and Clarke lifted her hips to let him slide the soaked scrap of cotton down her legs. Returning to the table, he cupped the back of her neck with one hand and positioned himself at her entrance with the other.

His eyes were black and fathomless and they held her, helpless, in their depths. The head of his cock parted her lips and stayed there. She pressed herself forward hungrily, but his fingers gripped her hip, squeezing hard and keeping her in place.

"Please--" Clarke gasped, and they both froze at the word, Bellamy's mouth dropping open in surprise. "--feel free to keep going if you want," she finished in a desperately normal tone. 

Her furious backpedaling brought a grin to his lips. "Sure." He rotated his hips, his cock grinding maddeningly against her, but it moved no further in. He kissed her temple, her eyelids, her forehead, the sweat in her hair, his voice low and husky now. "Just tell me how much you want it."

"I don't not want it," she said carefully.

He laughed and withdrew, and she bit back on the whimper as he did so. "Your move then, Princess."

He turned his back on her, walking away from the table as though it were the easiest thing in the world to do and pulling his shirt over his head from the collar. Her eyes trailed hungrily down his naked back to the flexed muscles in his ass. Her sexual experiences were admittedly limited, with only a few regrettable times with Finn and a stolen kiss from--

She wrenched that thought away and shoved off the table to collect the pile of clothes on the floor. So she didn't have much experience. If Bellamy Blake was going to have fun with her, she was going to do something she'd wanted to do to him since the day she'd met him.

"Get on the bed," she ordered in her best Chancellor voice. The room wasn't very big and he didn't have terribly far to go, but Bellamy gave her a raised look anyway before sinking onto the mattress.

He looked so at ease naked, as though it was his preferred mode of being. She held the wad of clothes in front of her as she approached him, aware that she was in a state of dishevelment with her shirt pulled low and his too-large jacket hanging off her shoulders. And, of course, naked from the waist down. 

Bellamy didn't seem to mind. Stretched out on his back in front of her, his erection was a sharp exclamation point that drew her gaze. She felt him watching her watching him. Dropping the clothes on the edge of the bed, she straddled his narrow hips, taking the opportunity to drink in the hardened ripcord body beneath her. His cock was slick with the evidence of her arousal, and it brought that familiar throb back between her legs. 

Slowly, she let her hands settle on his ribs, feeling him tense and jump beneath her touch. Try as he might, then, he wasn't totally indifferent. His cock pulsed as she settled down on top of him, sliding his erection between her thighs and trapping it there. She ran her palms along his chest, pushing his arms up over his head and leaning forward to snare both his wrists in one hand. She let the other wander behind her hips, stroking the bedspread and fumbling through the pile of clothes. He watched her with amusement, an indulgent smile warming his dark eyes.

"What do you think you're doing, Clarke?" he murmured, letting her hold him in place, although she could feel the tightening of his muscles as she pressed her weight down on him.

She lowered her lips to his and kissed him softly before pulling back an inch. "Making you beg."

He hadn't noticed her free hand come up from her side, but she saw realization spark in his eyes as she closed the first handcuff around his wrist. By the time he understood, she'd already threaded the second cuff through the metal headboard and snapped it around his other wrist.

Bellamy tried to jolt upright but was immediately arrested by the restraints. He fell back on the bed with a bark of surprise, and Clarke sat up to watch him yank and rattle the chain for a moment before settling down with a simmering glare. 

"You went through my gun belt."

"You left it on the floor."

"Take these off, Clarke."

"Sure." She smiled and held up the tiny silver key. "Say please."

A smoldering silence followed that. She slapped the key down on his chest and waited.

"Fine," he growled finally, and she could feel the rumble of it through her palm. "Do your worst, Princess."

She didn't know why the words made her so wet, all at once. Perhaps she was astonished to find that there was a thrill of anticipation at what she might be capable of for once rather than a drizzle of fear. 

It turned out that Bellamy was only good at going slow when he was the one to set the pace. The moment she leaned forward to kiss the inside of his bound wrist, he raised his impatient head, his mouth nipping at her breast. She ignored him, trailing her tongue up to his palm and planting a wet kiss in the center before taking his entire pointer finger into her mouth. He tasted salty--he tasted like _her_ \--and she sucked hard, rubbing the flat of her tongue over the tip of his finger until he groaned, his cock thrusting sharply between her thighs.

While her lips moved back and forth along his finger, Bellamy's straining head finally found its mark. His mouth reached her breast through her thin tank top and his lips clamped down around her, rolling her nipple between his teeth until it tented the fabric, stiff and wet and hard as a pebble. And all the while his hips were shifting against her, starting a desperate rhythm, and her thighs were so slippery that his cock slipped right between her legs and _pushed,_  and she almost melted down onto him right then and there, a fiery need pulsing insistently within her.

Clarke reared up, both hands flattening themselves on Bellamy's shoulders and shoving him back down onto the bed, stilling him instantly. Her chest was heaving, her shirt wet from his hungry mouth, and she had to take two deep breaths to calm the hammering of her heart. For all the effect he'd had on her, Bellamy didn't look very smug. He didn't look very in control at all. His eyes were dark and serious, and sweat glistened on his freckled cheeks. With his arms pulled up over his head, the muscles in his shoulders and chest stood out under his gleaming skin. She wanted all of her to be touching all of him.

He made a noise of dissent when she shrugged off the jacket, but when she pulled the shirt cross-armed over her head, he fell silent, his lips parted, drinking her in. 

"What?"

"Nothing." He paused. "You should keep the jacket on."

Feeling herself go warm all over, she pulled the cracked leather back up her arms, leaving the front open, the scent and feel of him both rough and comforting on her bare skin. His eyes devoured her naked breasts as she settled back on top of him, reaching beneath herself to grip the base of his cock. He was hard as steel wrapped in muslin in her hand, and she worked her palm slowly up and down as she lowered herself onto him. It was exquisite torture taking just the tip of him inside her, bit by bit  until he gasped and pulled at the cuffs, his head coming up off the bed as she held the position.

" _Fuck!_ " he groaned at the ceiling, and she took him another centimeter inside her, her hips rotating desperately against her own granite will, her mind on fire, split in two, and it was too much, she needed him buried deep, no more bullshit, and the key was still gleaming on his chest under her scrabbling fingers, and she was ready to give in, to give up, capitulation heavy on her tongue, and her eyes met his--

She went still. 

"Clarke," he said hoarsely, his gaze unwavering. "Do it. Please."

She fumbled with the key, twisted it in the lock, her fingers trembling as the metal ratcheted away. And then his strong hands were on her hips, guiding her downward, and she sank onto him with a whimper just as he thrust upward with a groan, filling her all at once, all the way to her core.

She felt like every one of her muscles had come unhooked. She would have fallen forward if Bellamy hadn't risen to meet her, his arms wrapping around her back and keeping them both upright. One hand was against her spine, holding her to him, keeping himself inside her as he began to move, slowly, achingly. His naked skin was hot against hers and she was clinging so tightly to him it was hard to tell who was where.

He was tensing and withdrawing, teasing her. She looped her arms around his neck and bit down on his shoulder, moving her hips faster, urging him on. His hand slid up her back and he wrapped her hair around his fist like a rope, causing a prickling sensation in her scalp that was half pleasure, half pain.

"Bellamy," she whispered into his skin, pressing herself urgently into him, and she felt him come unhinged. He pulled her hair until her head fell back, exposing her throat, and then kissed his way up her neck as he fucked her faster, driving into her so deeply that it pulled a cry from her lips.

The sensation was too good, too pure, but still not enough. She shoved him onto his back, holding him down on the bed, and began to ride him, helplessly, hard and fast because she couldn't take it a minute longer. Her hand was braced against his chest for balance, her nails clenched deep into the muscles there. He didn't seem to notice--his palms slipped up under the weight of her breasts, and she gave a little cry of pleasure when he twisted one nipple between his fingers. She was pounding up and down now without any sense of rhythm or inhibition--it was pure, mindless need, her thighs clenched hard around his hips.

The sensation came upon her fast, an unstoppable wave, and all she could do was look into Bellamy's underground eyes, her mouth dropping open, and he knew. Grabbing the open sides of the jacket, he pulled her down onto his chest, and as his mouth claimed hers in a furious kiss her orgasm rolled through her, paralyzing her and flinging her wide open at the same time.

The moment she began to shudder around him, he lost his control. Cupping her ass in both hands, he held her suspended above him and slammed into her from below, over and over until he made a choking sound and she felt the hot burst of him inside her.

They went limp at the same time, wrung out to exhaustion, emptied and refilled.

Clarke collected herself with some difficulty. Bellamy was still inside her, his fingers trailing sleepily under the jacket and up the ridges of her spine. She felt such a warm contentedness in that moment that she felt she'd like nothing better than to sleep for the next two days. Instead she raised her head from his chest and rested her chin on the back of her hand.

"You folded," she noted.

He was wearing a lazy half-smile. "Are you complaining?"

"You didn't have to," she persisted. "You knew I was about to break. Why'd you do it?"

The amused look was still there, but there was something else flickering in the depths of his gaze, something she recognized well by now. It was the look he got when he knew something bad was going to happen, something everyone else refused to consider.

"Today it was just a cup of coffee," he said finally. "But with half our soldiers out scouting, I don't know if you'll be..." He licked his lips, at a loss.

"Sufficiently guarded?" she supplied.

"Safe."

She sobered. "If you're worried the people are going to revolt, shouldn't one of us stay here?"

"I don't know," he said with a troubled frown. "I don't know what's best at this point. I just..." He tipped his head back and blew out a breath, his arms tightening convulsively around her waist. "I just think I want you with me."

She was moved. The only person who had ever escaped Bellamy's brutal objectivity before was Octavia. She smiled for him, more assuredly than she felt. "We can do this. Together." She leaned forward for a soft, deep kiss and felt him relax beneath her. They were both fading now, and she settled into his chest, letting the warmth and his presence lull her back into a feeling of security. "We'll get through Mt. Weather tomorrow, and it will all be easier from there."

She didn't realize yet that every part of that sentence was wrong. 


End file.
